


Baby Bird

by 1JettaPug



Category: Batgirl (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Burns, Daddy Issues, Father-Son Relationship, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Major Character Injury, One Shot, he's trying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 20:37:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12140640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1JettaPug/pseuds/1JettaPug
Summary: He had become Icarus. His wings- his suit- constructed of metals, leathers, wires and everything in-between. He hadn't built it to withstand battle! And because he did not create the perfect wings to take flight with, he was tossed into the sun. The wax of his wings melted- melted onto his beautiful skin- through his perfect skin! Truly, he had tumbled out of the sky and fell into the sea where he drowned!





	Baby Bird

Ethan groggily opened his eyes, then suddenly felt the need to scream. Pain instantly erupted from every corner of his singed skin. He quickly closed his eyes, squeezing them shut as tight as he could. “A- ahh....!” he cried out, softly.

But then, someone’s pushing him down back to the bed with firm, yet gentle hands.

“Sir, please," One said.

"Lie still.” Another told him.

He continued to thrash about in his bed, unable to comply because what else can he do?! His whole body felt like it was swimming in the lake waters of Hell! It was at these points when he felt very much like Icarus. His wings- his suit- constructed of metals, leathers, wires and everything in-between. He hadn't built it to withstand battle! And because he did not create the perfect wings to take flight with, he was tossed into the sun. The wax of his wings melted- melted onto his beautiful skin- through his perfect skin! Truly, he had tumbled out of the sky and fell into the sea where he drowned!

"Boy!"

His eyes snapped open.

That voice.

Every fiber, muscle, and tissue in his body froze and his eyes shot to the right.

He stared into those same brown eyes that had been watching over him day and night ever since he was brought to whatever damn facility he was in. He felt his jaw slacken. In that moment, once again, his mind couldn’t form words, let alone string them together. He couldn’t even bring himself to attempt to wipe the tears that spilled down the sides of his face.

“...D- Daa... aad," God, his voice must have sounded so small, so weak.

The corners of his father’s mouth upturn slightly from watching him battle against struggling against the doctors' careful hands. Such a smug bastard, Ethan thought briefly. The doctors strap his arms and legs down and adjust his covers, and Ethan could hardly help the whimper that tore from his throat as they worked.

Surprisingly, his father didn't make a single comment about that. Ethan closed his eyes, expecting to hear something about embarrassing the _family name_ or some shit like that, but he never heard another word from his father until the doctors were escorted out of the room.

When his father step forward, Ethan felt even more tears begin to spill down the sides of his face. He wanted to tremble. He felt weaker and weaker with each step his old man took towards him, so small and ineffective.

And yet... At the same time he needed some form of comfort. He didn't care how much it hurt when he feebly lifted his arm out to him, his bandaged fingers clawing the soft black fabric of his suit.

“...D- Dad,” Ethan murmured, trying to keep his arm up. It’s exhausting just to lift his hand and wrap his fingers around his jacket. "Hhh- H... eeell.... p... me."

"You're getting better, Ethan.” Oswald told him, and does his dad actually look sympathetic right now? “They're doing their best, I swear.”

"H- Hu... rrrtts...!" he cried, softly. His vision was starting to become blurry thanks to all the tears. His father just kept on talking, fingers carefully stroking whatever was left of his hair. Ethan could hardly hear him after a while, but still, it was nice to have something familiar to listen to. It distracted him from the pain that continuously racked his body. But he was really starting to get tired. But if he goes to sleep, will his father still be here?

"...Ethan?" 

It hurt.

Now, thick tears streaked down his cheeks, and Ethan almost choked on a sob. His father had actually laid his hand on top of his. He thought he was just going to yank it off of his expensive suit, but he just laid it there.

Ethan wanted to turn away from him and hide his tears. He wanted to hate this. Damn it all! He wanted to hate this man's attempt at comfort! He wanted him out of the picture! He wanted him gone- dead or not! And now all he wanted was to simply focus on his father gently laying his hand on top of his!

He cried.

“Shh,” Oswald hushed him. "It's okay, son."

He was breathing, fast and hard and even, nearly hyperventilating. He cried even harder. It hurt. Each rise and fall of his chest stung worse than a hundred bee stings.

“You're safe.” he whispered, finally choosing to sit down in the chair sat near the bed. He laid his umbrella to the side and set both hands on his son's bandaged hand. “You'll get better.” he said, almost as if he were making the same promise like he made in the ambulance again, and Ethan gave a single nod.

“You're a Cobblepot, my boy,” his father told him, and Ethan sucked in a deep breath that hurt so bad, his hand gripping his jacket even harder. "You're tough, Ethan. I know you can."

And just like that, all he wanted to do was cry into his father's chest, like a small child. In that moment, he wished ever so badly to be a little boy again and lay curled against his daddy's chest after a horrible nightmare, his ear pressed to his heart, and him crying great, heaving sobs. He just ever so wanted anything else but the pain! He wanted to ignore the way everything ached, because he had his father standing here by his side to protect him right now.

When he finally finished crying, he was completely and utterly exhausted.

All Oswald could see, then, was the strange defenselessness of his son’s singed body, the trembling of his lower lip, and the childlike trust he was putting in him right now.

Oswald actually rearranged the blanket until it covered Ethan, comforting his boy in one of the few ways he knew how in this situation. He stroked what little remained of Ethan’s blond hair back from his forehead, and felt him relax ever so slightly, descending into dreamland.

“I’ll be here,” he told him. “You just get some rest."

Ethan barely had the strength to nod.

His hand still kept its death grip on his father's jacket as he slowly began to lose his will to stay awake. Slowly, the light of the room began to fade out, this time encouraged by a comforting hum of music, settling over the blank white room like a gentle blanket. Ethan finally slept.


End file.
